by T. R. Harris
It didn’t matter. He had the power now, and it was giving him a more confident outlook on the mission—despite the game he and Riyad were playing.
During the journey, the team kept up on galactic affairs by tapping into open broadcasts or through Adam’s sources back on Earth. Even though they were on an officially sanctioned mission, he was told unofficially that they were on their own. Various authorities had been ordered not to provide direct support to the team lest the Klin equate their activities with those of the Advisory Council. Adam smirked. It seemed the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
It was while watching one of these bootleg broadcasts that Adam’s worst fears were realized….
8
Simon McAuliffe was a Human.
Dzin Ra Moralan was a Juirean.
And if hadn’t been for the presence of the other six strategic planners in the room, the two may have gone to blows.
Whether or not the argument escalated to a physical altercation was up to the Juirean Overlord. McAuliffe had done some boxing in his younger days as a Navy lieutenant junior-grade, and now in his mid-fifties, he’d maintained his rugged good looks and wiry build. In the light gravity of Formil, the Juirean wouldn’t have stood a chance against the Human, and Dzin knew it. This fact only made the alien more furious. Juireans didn’t cow down to anyone—unless they knew it was a losing battle.
But now the two were engaged in a battle of words—a conflict more conducive to the two of them leaving the room alive.
“It is premature,” Dzin yelled. Juireans didn’t normally express their anger with such verbal intensity. Except for an occasional primal battle cry, they were usually soft-spoken, yet clear with their meaning. “There is no evidence the Klin have changed strategy.”
McAuliffe gripped the datapad tightly in his right hand. Had it been a stack of papers instead of an electronic device, he would have tossed it across the table at the obstinate alien. “Seven breaches beyond the plane of their most recent advance, and you do don’t call that evidence?”
“The opening of the advancement cone has widened to the point where they must pick their targets with more care,” the Juirean stated. “This has caused their attacks to take on a more-ragged appearance.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
The Juirean sat back down in his chair, prompting the red-faced Human to do the same. There was a visible show of relief from the others in the room.
“As the Klin have advanced, they have come in contact with an ever-increasing number of Expansion worlds,” the Juirean said. “If they follow their customary thoroughness, they will have to suppress ninety-four worlds at their present position before moving on. They obviously do not have the resources to do this—not yet. So, they are selecting specific worlds, and I might point out, accepting capitulation from a higher percentage of those they approach. Worlds that would have normally been destroyed are being passed by, absorbed into Klin territory, either to be left alone or dealt with at a future date. The strategy is sound.”
McAuliffe looked to his left and the huge wall-size display screen. It showed the expanse of the Klin invasion, from its single point to the cone now measuring a thousand light-years across. Along the widest plane of attack, were the ninety-four worlds the Juirean had mentioned. Only thirty-two had been targeted by the Klin, with nine accepted surrenders. That left a lot of planets awaiting a verdict from the Klin as to their ultimate fate. This was also the first surge the Klin had made where they didn’t gobble up every Expansion world in range.
To Simon McAuliffe, the message was clear: The Klin were beginning to accelerate their penetration into the Expansion, making all the planners’ timetables obsolete. It also meant the time for action was now and not twenty years in the future.
Yet the Juirean and his faction didn’t accept this. They still believed they had time. McAuliffe didn’t. He wanted the allies to attack, and attack now. And every day they delayed put the Klin that much closer to the precious core worlds of both the Expansion and the Union.
Dzin locked eyes with the Human. “If we follow your recommendation, we will certainly upset the plans of the Klin. The Juirean people know this enemy better than you. They are methodical and rarely amend a mission once implemented. Only a major event—like an attack on one of their manufacturing worlds—will disrupt it. Your actions would guarantee a reworking of their mission parameters.”
McAuliffe pushed back in his chair and surveyed the faces of the other top-brass planners, all military personnel or technicians who specialized in strategic operations. He knew several were on his side and had been since the beginning. With each passing surge in Klin activity they came to him demanding that something be done. They couldn’t sit by while the galaxy was being systemically absorbed by the silver-skinned aliens.
Dzin and his smaller block were preventing McAuliffe from putting his plan into motion. But today was the day the Human would get his way. He had called for a vote of the planners…knowing he had the votes in his pocket. The current bloviating from both sides was more a way of venting frustration than to change anyone’s mind. The attack was going to take place, and within twenty-two days from the close of the meeting.
The planet was called G-nin Bor, and it had been a small regional capital before the Klin overran the area. Much to the relief of the natives, their offer of surrender had been accepted, after which half-a-million robots arrived, along with a contingent of eighty Klin to help convert much of the planet’s manufacturing capacity to the production of more killer robots. Construction also began on two more of the huge black starships. For seven months, the factories and crews worked around the clock, to the point where eighty thousand robots rolled off the production lines each day, and the skeletal ribs of the invincible spaceships could be seen in orbit by those with sharp eyes.
Some of the allies wanted to make a strike against a planet with a less developed Klin presence, like the recent surrenders. McAuliffe argued for a more established planet, one that was producing a sizeable number of robots and whose loss would be noticed by the Klin. His argument won out in the end.
It was a curious—yet fortunate—consequence of the Klin invasion that most of the worlds they either conquered or absorbed had virtually no security around them. Once a planet was invaded by killer robots, ships were free to come and go as they pleased. Some brought relief provisions, while others came to take the survivors away, possibly never to return to their homeworld again.
On those that were allowed to surrender, it was remarkably easy to get spies on-site, as well as the establishment of communications with the Expansion. Because of the abundance of intelligence coming out of G-nin Bor, McAuliffe and his commanders had overwhelming confidence in their attack plan and the possibility of success.
Yet as a master tactician, Simon McAuliffe didn’t accept an anticipated outcome without careful consideration. The question that bothered the allies was why did the Klin leave these worlds so unprotected? He had an answer. With more than enough worlds offering to join the Klin cause, planets in the rear of the advance were expendable. More would be brought in to replace those repatriated by the allies, with manufacturing taking place closer to the front.
That was the reason McAuliffe wasn’t surprised when his fleet of four hundred eighteen ships met no resistance when it entered the G-nin Bor system. Defenders from the planet were non-existent. The native Sumerlins—as they called themselves—had never had much of a military of their own. They didn’t need one. They had been part of the Expansion. And the black ships of the Klin were in service elsewhere, either delivering a rain of killer robots on helpless worlds or intimidating others into accepting unconditional terms of surrender.
McAuliffe had a clear shot at the planet.
Simon McAuliffe didn’t need to be with the allied fleet. He was a planner, and no one would have questioned it if he’d stayed on Formil. In fact, it was unusual that he would be with them at all. But he was also a
man of ambition. If this attack came off as planned—and the Klin were stung by it—Simon McAuliffe would be the first person to score an effective hit on the invaders. More attacks would follow—in fact, a whole flood of them—designed to eliminate the Klin’s ability to make war. This was the beginning of the end for the invaders, and it would be McAuliffe and his fleet leading the way.
After that, the sky would be the limit for Simon McAuliffe, the Savior of the Milky Way.
G-nin Bor was the fourth planet from the M-class star at the center of the system. It was a typical Expansion member world: Juirean-standard gravity, oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere and carbon-based Prime natives. It was rated an H-class for technology, which placed it one level below the most advanced.
The fleet swept past the fifth planet in the system—a smaller ringed world—before entering the Nin-void, a wide stretch of space forty million miles across. The ships of the fleet began to deploy, each with specific land-based targets on which to concentrate. A billion or more Sumerlins would die as hell rained down upon them from orbit. It was a steep price to pay for joining the Klin, but worth it if the advance could be stopped with their sacrifice.
The fleet had just passed the million-mile mark out from the planet when the first laser beams shot up from the surface. These were pulse lasers, which over the distance they traveled appeared more like impossibly long arrows of white light passing through space. Traveling at nearly the speed of light, the beams reached their targets less than six seconds later.
Simon McAuliffe was in the command ship, still five million miles out, when the attack began. The bridge crew erupted into action, coordinating defensive actions. Contingency plans had been drawn up in the event of a surface defense, such as the one they were now facing. It had always been a possibility, but McAuliffe was shocked by the intensity of the beams.
They appeared to be coming from three distinct points on the surface, located at equal distance around the planet. From these locations, the entire world could be defended against a space-borne attack, even as ships lower in the atmosphere would find shelter from the curvature of the globe.
Operational commanders gave the order: Bolt for the atmosphere to get under the defenses.
As three hundred ships activated small maneuvering gravity-wells, the intensity of the laser arrows increased ten-fold. From space, it looked as though the most spectacular fireworks show of all time had just begun. And at the end of each radiating shaft of light was a damaged allied starship.
With ample surface-based power, the Klin lasers kept firing, until individual allied starships broke off and made for the safety of far-distant space. Deep gravity-wells engaged, even from within the upper levels of the G-nin Bor atmosphere. Other ships, damaged by the unstoppable laser beams, began to break apart and fall toward the surface, leaving fiery trails of debris in their wake.
The retreat order was issued, even without Simon McAuliffe’s input. A hundred scattered ships fled the vicinity of G-nin Bor. Not a single bolt or bomb from their weapons bays or turrets had been released, let alone make it to the surface of the planet. It was a total rout—and it was about to get worst.
“Ship on screen, Captain!” a member of the bridge crew yelled. A Castorian named A’mock Rin was the captain of the ship and senior commander of the allied fleet. He wore a small breathing tube attached to his nose; an accommodation to the majority of the crew that didn’t require the breathing supplement. He looked over at a pale Simon McAuliffe.
“It is a Klin delivery vessel, approaching from out-system.”
“Don’t fire on them!” the Human yelled, in even more of a panic. “The ship is harmless unless their weapons are charged.”
“That we have been briefed,” the alien growled. His stern expression and gruff voice broadcast his disrespect for the Human. McAuliffe’s plan to attack the Klin had turned out to be a total bust. Now all A’mock Rin wanted to do was get the rest of his decimated fleet to safety.
“The Klin ship has launched a missile,” reported the same crew member as before.
All eyes turned to the master tac screen to watch a line of energy separate from the tail of the six-mile-long Klin warship. What happened next, no one was expecting.
A bright ball of blue and white light burst forth in the black of space, spreading out to form the distinctive ball of a nuclear explosion. Gigantic ribbons of electric blue energy coursed through the growing globe. A second later, the Klin ship was consumed by the explosion.
Nothing could be seen inside the massive ball of fire, not until a million-mile-long beam of intense white light shot from the roiling mass of radioactive fire. By the time light and nuclear heat began to dissipate, the Klin ship had already made its turn and was heading for the concentration of allied vessels around the flagship.
The huge beam of energy streaming from the Klin ship changed direction, now aimed at the remains of Captain Rin’s fleet. Dozens of other beams shot out from hull turrets, also targeting the Expansion warships.
Simon McAuliffe’s last living act before his ship was turned to mince-metal by the Klin laser weapons was to report back to Formil the results of his failed mission. The Klin not only had powerful land-based defenses, but they had also anticipated his attack in time to bring a black ship on station. But worse than that, the enemy had used a nuclear weapon to charge their own weapons. These ships should no longer be considered harmless-unless-provoked. They were killers in their own right.
By the end of the campaign, only nineteen ships out of a fleet of four hundred eighteen made it back to Formil.
Now the galaxy waited to see what the Klin would do next….
9
The starting point of the Klin invasion of the Milky Way could easily be traced to the planet Anbor-Namin, where Adam and his team were taken in the black ship before managing to escape to the surface. The Klin had been on their way to the planet when they heard Adam was being held on a Nuorean-controlled world not too far off their track. They changed course in hopes of capturing their Public Enemy #1. Afterward, they resumed their mission and turned Anbor-Namin into a smoking pile of burned-out buildings and unfathomable death and suffering.
For Adam and his team, the planet was a good starting point. It was the focus of the cone of conquest, as he’d come to call the Klin’s offensive action. Beyond Anbor-Namin, and reaching toward the outer edge of the galaxy, lay an area of unclaimed territory where the dregs of the galaxy settled. It was similar to the Kidis Frontier or the Radis, only smaller and even more savage. With the indiscriminate introduction of star travel hundreds of years before, primitive beasts with no business having such technology were free to roam the region, using entire planets as hunting grounds, both for food and trophies. The region was still recovering from the devastation. As a result, most worlds had loose militias to protect what was theirs, even if what was theirs had been someone else’s only a few years before.
It was a logical place for the Klin to begin their assault on the Expansion. No one in their right mind would enter the region without an army behind them…or an ATD embedded under their skin.
“What the hell’s wrong with the air?” Sherri asked, her nose pressed against the round canopy of the Juirean Express Transit vehicle. “It’s purple.”
“The computer says it’s safe to breathe.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I like purple; it’s one of my favorite colors. Just not in the air I’m breathing.”
It was odd, Adam admitted; a purple haze in the atmosphere, and not a reflection from outer space. This stuff swirled in light patches everywhere. It wasn’t a particulate, because it never settled on surfaces. It was a gas of some kind combined with the standard mix of oxygen and nitrogen.
Riyad, are you in position? Adam asked through his ATD.
If you’re asking are we in orbit, just waiting to be attacked by pirates, sure. About a dozen small ships are in the area sniffing around, wondering what we’re carrying in our ample cargo holds. I have to keep shi
fting position before someone gets the courage to come in for a look.
Have Arieel keep an eye on them. If need be, she can shut down their engines. We’re about to head to the town. I’ll try to keep the channel open so you can hear what’s going on.
How about just give me the highlights. Having a running conversation going on in the back of my mind is a little freaky and distracting.
Roger that, Adam thought, smiling. Here we go….
Adam had to blink several times before his eyes adjusted to the strange color of the air. It was darker than normal—as was expected—but not much. It only took a couple of minutes before he and Sherri became acclimated.
The planet was called Rasnon-4 on the charts, but the inhabitants called it Borlac—the local word for their concept of Hell. It wasn’t that the planet was hot or desolate; it was actually a pleasant place with lush green forests and beautiful blue seas. The name had to be a reflection of the people who lived here. Just on the short walk to the border of the port—there was no fence surrounding the landing field—Adam identified nineteen different species, with none more prominent than the other. It was impossible to tell which one was the indigenous race—if there even was one.
As usual, it wasn’t so much the presence of the Humans that caused the stir, but rather the beefy-looking starship they arrived in. Juirean ETs were rare even in the Expansion. Out here, it was a good bet no one had ever seen one before.